


you through my camera

by the_man_eating_cat



Category: Produce X 101 - Fandom
Genre: a take on reality i guess, and he deserves so much, and he's worked so hard, i don't even really know how to explain this one, i just really love lee midam, it's like half-documentary, maybe half character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 17:45:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19256083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_man_eating_cat/pseuds/the_man_eating_cat
Summary: Lee Midam gave up on singing.But someone just won't let him forget about it.





	you through my camera

**Author's Note:**

> i just started watching produce x so here i am. i'm only like three episodes in but seeing midam again has re-awoken my love for this man ;; i missed him so much after he left ygtb  
> honestly i might take this story down, i feel kind of weird about it haha. but i thought i'd give a shot at sharing it or something. 
> 
> please support midam

“Can you state your name for the record?” 

A soft laugh. 

“What record? This is just going to sit in your camera roll like all the other videos, right?” 

“Oh, you never know. I’ll share this with the world one day.” 

“Yeah, sure. But… alright. My name is Lee Midam.” 

“Your age?” 

“23.” 

“And your occupation?” 

“Hey… That’s kind of mean. You know my answer.” 

“For the sake of the world, Midam. They don’t know.” 

This time, a sigh. 

“I’m currently unemployed.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because I, uh…. I quit my job.” 

“And what was that?” 

“Singing. I used to be a singer.” 

“Why did you quit?” 

Silence. 

“It’s a... It’s kind of a long story.” 

“That’s okay. It’s what we’re here to tell.” 

 

Lee Midam gave up on singing. 

Even for all that it was his life, for all that he loved it -- he still left it behind. He thought he’d be okay, or better off, at least, because he was getting so tired. Just so, so tired, of this constant pull, this constant trying, this constant being let down. He was twenty-three years old, already coming up to society’s determined age for success. And he could see it in their eyes, when he was auditioning or posting videos or anything. Saw it when he gave his age, and everyone seemed to think that if he hadn’t come far by now, he never would. 

So Midam gave up. He was in no way weak; he never has been. He was only human, purely human. Both in his love for singing, and in the way he gave up on it. Because sometimes we forget what ties us to life, or we look over it, blinded by all that the world tells us to believe. For him, it was that he was not good enough, that he had missed his chance, that he could not succeed. 

It was a long, thought out decision, something that needed to happen. 

And also, it wasn’t. 

Even among friends, Midam has been known as a couple of different things. He's reticent, he's calm, he's quiet. Some of the friends he makes know him about as well as most people know an acquaintance. They say that he's nice, that he's friendly -- that he's sometimes a little hard to read. But the fact that it's been said means there's also a  reason for that. 

Anyone can have a resting face, or a serious aura. For Midam, it might be something more like an inborn social awkwardness. He's not bad at making friends, per se, more like bad at reaching out. 

The ones that have known him well -- they have _ known.  _ Midam is in no way emotionless, more like spilling over with emotions. He just puts them in a bottle, carefully shuts them in, keeps them quiet. He has his wild sides, his excitement, things that make him so happy that he can't be quieted. He just needs to be seen, to be listened to. 

So few people seem to listen. 

He had a company. It was supposed to help him create an image in the world, show himself to fans. 

He had people he was close to. People he sang with, worked with. And he loved that, loved all of it. But over and over, he was trying to succeed, and being pushed back. It was always ‘we’ll get to you next’, then postponing it to another year, or, over and over, someone who was younger, who was less overwhelmed by the pressures that come with years in the business, never going any where.

Singing had always been Midam’s something. His dream, his hope, his greatest desire. He thought he would make it, when he began pursuing singing. And yet all there ever was to his career was patience that would lead to nothing. He was hopeful, then he was waiting, then he was tired. And all the while, he had tried so hard, worked so hard, practiced so hard. None of it ever did a thing, none of it changed anything. His company piled on the pressure; they put him through the wringer over and over, telling him he would find his way to success. That one of these days, one of these times, he would be successful.

And he never was. 

Weighed down by all that, constantly failing, he couldn’t help but think of giving up. He couldn't help but think maybe dreams weren't enough -- there’s a reason so many people give them up. So he sang, and underneath the lyrics he was wondering if it would be better to leave, if he could find more happiness doing something else. He practiced, and behind his motions he was dreaming of a world where he was no longer tired, no longer so overwhelmed. 

And then he was put into a competition. 

Performers versus other performers, because only the best of the best could make it. But Midam knew this kind of thing. He knew how it ended. It wasn’t the ‘best of the best’, not really. It was company favorites, or fan favorites, or anyone who wasn't Midam, because everyone else had been right. 

If Midam hadn’t made it by now, he never would. 

So it was a thought-out decision. Something he considered forever, something he worried about constantly. He never said a word, never showed a thing; he just sat and feared by himself, thinking out the options. 

And then it was an impulse decision. 

It was being told to “compete in groups against each other” and thinking  _ this is it. I won’t do this again. Not anymore.  _

It was disappearing into the night, down streets he had walked time after time, going to a company that would send him nowhere. 

It was his familiar home, crying in his mother’s arms, telling her, “I can’t do it anymore.” 

It was her quiet understanding, for she had watched his every step, she had cried with him and worried with him, and she knew when her boy, all full of strength, had been wilted away by this career, this battle. 

It was when she told him, “Then come home,” and he did. 

His so-called ‘last chance’ had just began, and he threw it away, because he knew it would take him nowhere. All that was left there for him was pain, and he would no longer take its hand and let it tear him apart. 

So now Midam is at home. He eats dinner with his parents, taken care of and loved, because his parents will wait forever just to have him find the life that finally makes him happy. He teases his little sister, urges her on with her own dreams, because hopefully they’ll go farther than his ever did. He scrolls through job applications and wonders what to do next, because now there is no longer singing, and he has never experienced a life without that. 

 

“Have you decided yet?” 

Hands pause from where they are reached out to unpack clothes. 

“Decided what?” 

“What you’re going to do. Now that you’re home.” 

A hesitant pause. 

“I don’t… know yet.” 

“Well, do you miss singing?”

“Honestly, I don’t think I could ever not.”  

“Then, do you think you made the right decision?” 

“I think so. I needed this. It’s a breath of fresh air, but it kind of feels like the first one I’ve ever taken. And now I have this chance to finally stop and think for once, about my life, and what I want.” 

“Okay. That’s good. Also -- while we’re in here, are you going to give the viewers a tour of your room?” 

A familiar laugh. 

“You don’t have any viewers.” 

“For the ones I  _ will  _ have. They’ll wanna know.” 

“Well, I’m sure by the time you get viewers, my room will have changed. So we can do a room tour then.” 

“Hmm. Alright. Then one more question.” 

“Yeah?” 

“If you could go back to the day you first became a singer, would you?” 

“In a heartbeat.” 

“Even if you had to live through everything that came after, too?” 

“Yeah, even then. ‘Cause, see… for all that I hurt, singing still gave me all the happiness I could ever ask for. All the pain I went through is worth those moments of happiness I had when I started.” 

“But you still quit.” 

“Well, life doesn’t just hand good moments out. And honestly… I’m not really sure I’ll ever get them again.” 

“For what it’s worth… I hope you do.” 

A soft smile, slightly sorrowful eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

 

In the months that pass, Midam heals. 

It’s as if his skin looks brighter, his smile looks more honest. There’s a sparkle in his eyes, even as he talks about the future, which was once so heavy and terrifying. He’s come to gain this understanding of life, through both the pain he went through, and this period of freedom after leaving that. 

But no matter what other jobs he gets, he can’t truly forget singing.  

It’s in his heart, in his head. It’s in the way he lingers on the notes as he hums to himself while working. It’s in the way he starts to record a song, and then stops, and then starts again, because he wants to, but he’s not sure he’s allowed to. He already left it behind.

But human nature rests in the soul, and that is what guides is. It's no matter of fate, really, no logic of destiny. We simply love what we love, we follow what we want. And for all the hurt he went through, even after giving up on singing like he did, Midam's soul is filled deeply, truly, with a tremendous love for music. He carries in him a desire that doesn’t disappear, not even after he leaves music behind. For what the heart knows never truly disappears. 

And the people around him can see it, clear as day. He records himself singing a song; he starts to post it on Instagram. And then he pauses, records it again. And then again, again, going over it in his head, and at first it looks like fear, hesitation. 

And then he smiles, and it turns out it’s only love. 

Sometimes, though, it’s the opposite. He lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling, and he hears in his head all the days he was a singer. He sees familiar practice rooms, and he knows their acoustics perfectly. He sees pianos and teachers and sheet music. He sees cameras, soaking in his every word, their digital eyes watching as he pours out his soul in the best way he knows how. Midam himself may be reticent, but his music, it is honest, so sincerely honest. It holds nothing back, takes nothing away from those listening. And it leaves no option but to be enveloped by it, to adore it. 

When he stands before the mirror and sees a version of himself singing, it is not being trapped in the past. 

It is realizing what may be reality, what may be his only choice for a future. 

It took healing to see this, but healing is what he’s done. And it has taken him right back to a path he knows. 

 

“Are you recording?” 

“I’m always recording. Why? Something you wanna tell your fans?” 

“Hmm. Something like that.” 

“What?” 

“I’m going back.” 

“Back where?” 

A happy, easy smile. 

“You know where.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

“But you -- I thought it hurt you, I thought you wouldn’t…” 

“It was never singing that hurt me, really. It was the career, the competition. But it turns out that I really am incapable of denying music. And it’s calling me, telling me to sing again." 

“Are you scared?” 

“Yeah, incredibly.”  

But that smile belies excitement. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“Find a new company. Somewhere I might actually be able to get it right. It’s not a second try, really, so much as it is doing it all over again. Right from the beginning.” 

“What’ll you do if… if it doesn’t work?” 

“It will. Because this time, I won’t give up. No matter what, no matter where I need to go. I’ve learned something, by giving up on music.”

“What is that?” 

“That music is my one and only path. No matter what choices I have, no matter what jobs I could take, there’s really only one path I’m capable of following, and it’s music. Because giving up on singing was even harder for me than all those years of practicing and failing and worrying. That's why I'm going to stick with music now; I’m going to give myself entirely to it. That’s all I really have to give anyway, so… I just have to trust that music will take it.” 

“Midam?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think you’re amazing.” 

A soft smile, eyes that twinkle with happiness. 

“Thanks.” 

 

And then more time passes, and he is a singer again. He is following his heart, his dream, and this time with an understanding, maybe even a determination, that he didn’t have before. 

He said once that he’s not sure life will give him any more happy moments. But he is beaming from his soul right now, singing out to all that his future may hold. It’s not that life had to give him this; it’s that he learned how to reach for it. He is doing that with all his strength now. 

He finds a new company. Somewhere that knows how to treat him better, somewhere that gives him the chances that his old one probably would have denied him. Because it’s not about being ‘Lee Midam, a few years too late to be trying’. It’s about being ‘Lee Midam, who won’t give up no matter how many years go by’. 

This time, there is no running from competition. This is where music has taken him, and he will follow it, as long as he can continue on this path, the only one he knows. 

And when he sings, he really shines, and he’s so incredible and magical that it’s impossible to look away. 

 

“Remember the day we met?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You heard me singing. And you came up to me, and you told me you loved my voice, and… there was this look in your eyes, like my music had reached you, and meant something to you. Seeing that felt like doing something right, as a singer. It felt like this was what I wanted. It didn’t have to be a million people -- just one person, saying ‘I love your music’, is all I wanted. And that… I think that’s part of why I went back. Because I knew that if I sang, there’d be someone out there who would love it. And I knew that’s all I wanted.” 

“Midam, that’s…” 

“Yeah, cheesy, alright. What I’m saying is, uh… Thank you. For caring about my music, even doing all this,” a smile, “recording me, which you seem to like.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Once again, a sweet laugh. 

“Seriously, though. Thank you.” 

“I’d rather thank  _ you, _ Midam. For not giving up, for singing for me. Everything you’ve done is really, really amazing. And I love getting to watch you sing. So thank you.” 

And this bright, bright smile is all the response that’s needed. 

“Then, you’re welcome.” 

“You too.” 

“Anyway,” said with a laugh. “It’s late now, so you should probably go home and rest. I just wanted to say that.” 

“Yeah, okay. Good night, Midam.” 

“Good night.” 

 

_ Turn off camera?  _

**_Yes_ ** _    No  _

  
  



End file.
